


Sojourn in Silverlake

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Chastity Device, Knotting, Light Bondage, M/M, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's pack sends him to California to find out why the Silverlake Pack is so different.  The answer has a lot to do with Misha Collins and his unconventional classroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sojourn in Silverlake

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) 2012, for the kinks "sensation play" and "chastity devices". Contains werewolves, (attempted) knotting, chastity devices, brief bondage, and an ambiguous reference to mpreg. Features Chad Michael Murray. Beta'd by [](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/profile)[vee_dub](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/).

 

Misha loves his job. That's why he invented it, he thinks, with a little well-deserved smugness, as he surveys his handiwork. Chad has been a difficult customer, hard-headedly set on proving himself instead of _learning_ , but Misha has him well in hand now and feels sure he will quite shortly be putty.

"Oh, man, that's--that's--"

He likes it when they get speechless. This is Chad's second practical session, and once again Misha has bound him wrist and ankle to the large, sturdy bed he constructed for these sessions. Once again, Chad's large Alpha penis sports the narrow chastity cuff Misha and his university colleagues developed; this time it's been adjusted so that, while it still prevents the formation of an Alpha's knot, it doesn't cause an erection to wilt away and not return. So Chad is feeling this, really feeling it, the distraction of his dick, the excitement, the urge to penetrate, to thrust, to come. And he can't do any of that. Not today. Today he has only Misha's hands, Misha's body, and Misha's toys, in whatever fashion Misha chooses to provide them.

Chad stares, with a look of mingled bliss and confusion, as Misha paints another set of invisible hieroglyphs along his torso and legs with the long purple feather. He arches up for more, muscles straining against his bonds, sweat glistening atop his carefully-maintained tan. Misha leans in to lick at a nipple, close enough to hear Chad's groan as he gets a more powerful whiff of Misha's Omega scent. The changed scent of an Omega who's aroused is something that Alphas notice because it gets them hard, makes them crazy. They're usually too focused on that to notice that the scent itself brings pleasure. If Chad hasn't noticed that yet, Misha's confident he will have got the message through by their final session next week.

"P-please, Misha," Chad cries, in a moment of collectedness, "please let me come!"

"I'm not stopping you. But, sure, I'll help you out. First, tell me what you've most enjoyed, of the ways I've touched you today."

Chad squirms, so Misha backs away a bit. Chad blinks, and his blue eyes seem to have less trouble finding focus. "The bit with my ass," he says, all bluntness and fuck-you-if-you-don't-like-it. Misha grins. This one might grow up to be something. A Napoleon. Or a David Hasselhoff.

"Lovely," Misha says. "And how would you like to come today?"

Chad licks his lips. "Do I have to stay tied up?"

"Afraid so. It's policy."

Chad lifts his head, looks down his body to The Chadster--yes, he really calls it that, he said so. Capitals and all--and then transfers his gaze to Misha's face. "Ride me," he says.

Misha hides all his imagined snark about how that's hardly an original suggestion behind a sweet smile and a brisk trot over to the second supply cabinet. He's back in moments, though from Chad's muttered "thank _Odin_ " he gathers he was missed. The extra space an Alpha condom has at the bottom to accommodate a knot makes it just about straightforward to get the thing on over the thick band of fabric and technology currently inhibiting Chad's knot. Misha's got the hang of it now, and he's quick. He opens the lube sachet with his teeth, applies some perfunctorily to Chad's latex-wrapped dick, and climbs aboard. Misha's always been one of those Omegas whose hole self-lubricates enough to cause embarrassment in a variety of situations, but here it permits a delightful haste. He sinks down and Chad bucks up; the stretch-burn is fleeting, and he grins as he starts to ride.

***

Jensen gets out of the cab that brought him from the airport and resolves that if the Silverlake Pack doesn't have a guest room or something for him, he's going to find a park somewhere and sleep in fur. He's had more than enough of metal boxes, cramped spaces, and noisy engines for a while.

"I'll wait until you go in," says the driver, and Jensen blinks at him, confused. "So I know your friends are home. This street--well, rumour has it you don't want to be alone out here, late at night."

"Uh, thanks," Jensen says, startled. Humans don't know he's Omega, and wolves who've seen the size of _his_ wolf don't generally give him any sass, so it's very nearly a novel experience to be treated as vulnerable. The driver shrugs like it's nothing, like he's embarrassed to have offered. Jensen shoulders his bag, checks the number on the fence, and opens the gate.

By the time he reaches the front door, he can smell that others of his kind live here. It seems weirdly incongruous to him, having grown up in a pack whose lands were in the middle of nowhere, who kept big spaces between the houses. The houses and apartment buildings on this street are all packed together, and though there's space between the buildings it isn't much, just enough for a pathway or shed. He straightens, takes a deep breath, and knocks.

The woman who opens the door is petite, with glossy brown hair and bright eyes. She's Beta, he thinks, beneath the subtle floral perfume.

"Hi," he says, and has to fight a surge of shyness. "Jensen Ackles. I think I'm expected?"

Her smile is huge and glorious, and she offers her hand. He accepts it, shakes. "Genevieve Cortese. You'll be wanting me to take you to our leader, then."

He laughs, rubs at his neck where there's a crick from trying to sleep on the plane. "Something like that."

"This way."

The house is clean and well-kept, the floors laid with textured tiles he knows will be friendly to canid feet. The whole place has that peculiar lack of personalisation that marks it as somewhere a lot of people use but no one person is responsible for decorating.

Their leader is a surprise. He's fortyish, handsome, with spectacular abs on display where his t-shirt has ridden up. He's sprawled in a beanbag chair, speaking French into a cordless phone.

And he's Beta.

Jensen's mama didn't hold with what she called 'old-fashioned thinking', but she'd taught him the manners he'd need to survive with those who did. So it's second nature to assume a respectful stance, head bowed, as he waits for the leader to be finished with his call.

It doesn't take long. The man says his goodbyes, complete with kissing noises and the kind of laugh that leaves Jensen hard pressed not to at least smile, and clicks the phone off.

"Ah," he says, spotting Jensen. He leaps to his feet as nimbly as one really can from a beanbag. "Our emissary from Texas?"

Genevieve steps in to make the introductions. "Sebastian, this is Jensen Ackles. Jensen, this is Sebastian Roché."

They shake, but Sebastian doesn't let go Jensen's hand afterwards, in fact uses it to pull him in. Jensen's alarmed for a second, before he registers that the man is kissing his cheeks in turn, European-style.

_Well, duh,_ he scolds himself, _he IS European. Should have expected that._

"So, just to be sure we're not working at cross purposes, how about you sit down and tell me what you understand your mission to be?"

Jensen nods and takes the couch. It's old, and the green vinyl of the arm is cracked in places, but it's comfortable. Sebastian turns his beanbag to face him and plops into it again. Stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankles. Then he leans way back, tips his head until he can, presumably, see Genevieve upside down. "Care to join us, Gen?"

"No, thanks. I have a research paper due." She yawns. "And I need coffee."

"Good luck. If you see the noble Misha, would you send him in?"

"Sure thing, boss."

She goes. The room seems emptier now.

"So," Sebastian prods gently.

Jensen takes a deep breath. "Well, basically, in recent years we've been hearing great things about your pack. Specifically, about how your Alphas treat the Betas and Omegas they're mated to. My Dad goes to a lot of inter-pack meetings around the country, and he insists that there's something different about your Omegas. That no one else's are as happy and as confident. My Mom is… I guess you'd say she's heir apparent to the leadership, provided no young knotheads--" he bites his lip, because that's not a slip you make in front of a pack leader. Then again, the reason he made it is the lack of Alpha scent to remind him to be on his best behaviour, and perhaps the not-saying-knothead is more about the fact that a leader is an Alpha--well, usually--than the fact that he's a leader? In any case, Sebastian doesn't rebuke him. "--well, provided no one decides to make it a bloody coup rather than a natural succession. Anyway, Mom wants to live in a happy pack, and if she becomes leader she'll have lots of power to help make that happen, so she's very interested in learning what a pack like yours does different in case we can emulate."

"I'm sorry not to have met her. Could she not take the time away?"

"Yeah, she's pretty busy. Our leader's old now, so she does a lot of the day-to-day stuff, you know?"

Sebastian nods.

"Anyway, it makes sense to send an Omega. I'll see and understand things that a Beta or Alpha wouldn't necessarily notice."

"I should think so," Sebastian agrees. "And, of course, in some packs I'm sure the culture is such that only an Omega would have any hope of getting the Omegas to speak candidly."

"That too." It's a fact, just not one you generally mention lest it be taken as a criticism.

"I think you'll find we're pretty open and laid-back here." Sebastian raises a hand to cover a yawn. "Forgive me, I have a lot of business in other timezones; I'm overdue for a catnap." There are footsteps in the hall. "Ah, Misha," he says without looking. "What excellent timing."

"Hello, hello." A tall, slender, scruffy, and strangely scary-looking guy comes skipping across the floor to throw himself onto the couch and virtually on top of Jensen. "Misha Collins," he says, nose two inches from Jensen's, "at your service."

"Jensen's here on an intelligence gathering mission from Texas. Which pack was that again?"

"Scrub Hill," he supplies automatically.

"He's here to learn why our Omegas are so contented. You'll have to show him some of the wonderful work you do."

Misha snickers and pulls back. Slaps Jensen cordially on the shoulder. "I'd be happy to. I have a new victim all lined up for tomorrow." He winks as if they're sharing a joke, but Jensen has no idea what it could be.

"Will you show him somewhere he can sleep, please, Misha? I believe I will check on the pups and then call it a night."

Misha salutes, still not looking away from Jensen. It's rather unnerving. "Any special requirements?"

"Nope."

"Let's go, then."

"Do we have to skip?"

Misha smiles. It wrinkles his nose. "No. But isn't it more fun that way?"

***

Jensen oversleeps, according to his watch, but of course they're on Pacific Time here. He takes a quick shower, dresses light, and heads down to the kitchen where a couple of young Alphas are arguing good-naturedly over skillets and breakfast-y aromas.

"Hello, hello," says the blond, turning to give Jensen the once-over. The greeting might be the same one Misha used last night, but the attitude is completely different. "Chad," he purrs, holding out a hand.

"Jensen. Out here from Scrub Hill, near Dallas."

"Texas? Jay here hails from Texas." He gives his friend a shove, resulting in an _extremely_ uncomplimentary mutter which Chad blithely pretends not to have heard.

"Hi," says the other guy, looking briefly over his shoulder at Jensen. "I'm Jared. You like pancakes?"

"Sure. Anything I can do to help?"

"Please tell me you speak coffee machine," Chad says. "Ours is an asshole."

"It's old and temperamental," Jared corrects, "but it gets there in the end."

Chad sniffs. "Well, _I'm_ not gonna sweet talk it. The thing wants to kill me, no doubt because I am better looking than its chrome hide could ever hope to be. _And_ more versatile."

"Yeah, Chad. Because it does one thing well, and you do, like, a thousand things badly."

"Shut up, I am awesome." He looks to Jensen, apparently for confirmation.

Jensen shrugs, amused. He grabs some mugs down from the hooks slung beneath the overhead cupboards, heads for what does, indeed, appear to be a rather old cafe-style coffee machine. "So I guess you two are the early birds around here," he observes, as he gets to work.

"Early bird gets the giant, juicy--"

"Chad, I don't think he's here looking to get laid."

"Doesn't mean he's not open to the possibility. Everyone's open to _my_ possibilities, I'm sure. Everyone sensible, anyway."

It's kinda weird how hands-off and, well, light-hearted the guy is being about this. Interested Alphas usually either come on kinda strong right off the bat, or else they wait, size up the situation, and make a more tactical approach when they consider that the time is right. Chad seems… Jensen doesn't have a word. He turns his head. "Maybe later," he says cheerfully.

Chad beams and jostles Jared. "I like this one, Jay-bird. Think we can persuade him to stick around?"

That actually worked? Jensen hides his surprise, turns his attention to the coffee machine. "So who all has milk?"

***

"The pack," Misha explains, leading Jensen out the back door and straight into an enormous expanse of green, "owns all these houses." He points. "They're on two different streets, and this is all their back yards combined. I like to think it was all set up when this housing development was new, but knowing wolves…"

"The big scary Alphas probably just scared the original owners out of town."

"Something like that. Whatever happened, it was decades ago." He points out a little white building surrounded by plush green lawn. "This is my workshop, where I make furniture and train Alphas." He bounds up the two steps to the door, which isn't locked. Jensen follows.

They pass through an echoing room full of articles of furniture in various stages of rusticity and completeness, the smells of sawdust and polish, and end up in not the makeshift schoolroom Jensen would have expected but a bedroom.

"Welcome to my torture chamber," Misha says, right about when Jensen spots the restraints trailing, waiting, from each of the large bed's corner posts. "Don't worry, they thank me for it in the end." He winks. "Or even sooner."

"So what is it, exactly, that you do here? ‘Cause it kinda looks like…" He's not sure how to say it, so he just shrugs.

Misha waggles his eyebrows. "Like I tie them up and have my wicked way with them?" He smiles. "That's part of it, I guess. But the main thing is education. Teaching them how much better sex can be with someone who doesn't think that the thrusting action of an erect penis in a lubricated hole is the be-all and end-all--the Alpha and Omega, if you'll pardon the pun--"

Jensen groans

"--of good sex."

"So you give them, like, foreplay lessons?"

"Yup. I focus on showing them all the sensations they can enjoy, I teach them about nipples and back-rubs and feathers, all kinds of stimulation they haven't tried. I go looking for erogenous zones they didn't know they had. And then they go off into the world and try those same things out on future partners."

"And this is the reason that this pack is so different?"

"Well, I _am_ extremely good at it, if I do say so myself. But no, that's not the only reason. We have awesome people, and Sebastian's quite the visionary leader, even if you wouldn't know it to look at him. Stick around a while, you might find a lot of things we do differently here that contribute to our general happiness. There's a reason wolves come here from all over and wind up staying. I personally only came to LA for a trade show, and the folks here were kind enough to put me up for the weekend. That was almost seven years ago. But right now, I do believe I hear the delicate, elfin tread of this morning's victim…"

Theres's a crashing sound from somewhere beyond the door, and then a distinctly audible mutter of " _shit_." Thus announced, Jared stumbles in.

"Jared, welcome!" Misha cries, bounding forward to shake his hand as if they've just met. "How are you feeling? All ready to go?"

Jared looks at Jensen.

"If me observing is a problem, man, I will totally understand."

Jared rubs bashfully at the back of his head. "I, uh. It's not a problem. I mean, I don't mind. I'm not shy or anything. But I wouldn't want you to--to think less of me, after."

"I'm sure he won't," Misha soothes. " _I_ always end up thinking better of the Alphas I work with, after I see how much effort they put in for me."

Jared frowns. "Even Chad?"

Misha laughs. " _Especially_ Chad."

"Oh. Okay, then. Should I get naked?"

_Please do,_ Jensen thinks. And mentally scolds himself for it. He's suddenly far too aware of this Alpha, the height and breadth of him, the strong features…

***

He's so damn jealous he has to excuse himself and get the hell out of there five minutes later, when all Misha's done is rub a little scented oil into Jared's pecs.

Chad finds him not long after, perches on the wall of the raised veggie patch where Jensen has decided to help out with a bit of spontaneous weeding because he can use the distraction. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You smell weird."

"Gee, thanks."

Chad rolls his eyes. "Dude, just asking if you're okay. I'm being all sensitive and understanding here."

Jensen pats Chad's knee. "You just keep working on that, champ. Sure you'll get there in the end."

"You really do smell weird." He's undiscourageable, apparently, this Chad. "Like wounded, only not. Upset, maybe." He frowns. "Did you get kicked out of Misha's den of iniquity?" He frowns, and sniffs, some more. Looks like a kid concentrating on a particularly thorny trig problem. Then he claps his hands victoriously. "You want Jay! I knew your taste wasn't completely awful, even if you didn't fall into a rapturous heap at my feet. So, you gonna stay with us, then? ‘Cause the Chad Man will _not_ be happy if you drag his bestie back to Texas. And the Chad Man _cannot_ move to Texas, man. That is unacceptable."

"Hold your horses there, cowboy. You're really getting ahead of yourself."

Chad sighs dreamily. "I _would_ look awesome in cowboy boots."

"You'd look pretty damn awesome out of my line of sight," Jensen replies sweetly.

"Okay. I'll just go tell Jay that you want to have his ass-babies, then." He sniffs theatrically. "I know when I'm not wanted."

Oh, damn. Even more horrifying than the thought of having to speak to Jared about his sudden unexpected Feelings is the thought of this idiot trying to do it for him. "Stay," he growls. "Regale me with anecdotes. Delight me with your insider knowledge of this pack."

Chad beams.

***

"So I can be your best man, then," Chad is saying, as he half leads, half supports Jensen back from the local bar. Receiving Chad's wisdom on the subject of the Silverlake Pack had taken the rest of the day and well into the evening, and the chief thing Jensen has learned from the recitation is _never invite Chad Michael Murray to speak on a topic broader than his coffee preferences_.

"Maybe," Jensen allows. "Wait, I'm getting married?"

"Dude, you're getting married?" says the head of Jared, which has appeared around the door from the living room. It sounds vaguely disappointed, which Jensen hopes is a good sign.

"Ah," Chad says, looking between them, "about that. Jensen here wants a quick word with you." And he gives Jensen a little push which sends him careening into Jared.

Whose arms are very warm and supportive and who smells like butter and brandy and dragonflies dancing.

"Hi," Jared says, voice soft and somehow grumbly.

"High," Jensen agrees. "Definitely high."

Jared clucks his tongue, looks away. "Just how much Rogue Brutal IPA did you pour down his throat, man?"

"Oh, plenty. But don't worry, I defended his honour. You may call me Sir Chadalot, Knight of the Round Table."

"I may," Jared says, "but I won't."

Chad sniffs. "Well, with friends like that… I'm going to bed. Smell you later."

Jensen flails a hand more or less in his direction by way of a good night. Chad's burp somehow conveys acknowledgement.

"I'm too drunk for this conversation," Jensen complains, into Jared's surprisingly impressive chest.

"Oh, are we having a conversation?"

"Misha," Jensen remembers. "How were the sex lessons?"

"Uh… Why don't we go sit down, if you're gonna be this…"

"Drunk?" Jensen suggests helpfully.

"I was going to go with ‘intrusive', but now that you mention it…"

Jensen's being walked around in a small circle and then backwards into the living room before he really has time to think about it. Then he's tumbling down onto the couch, bouncing a little, and Jared's beside him and there are many smells in the room but it's impossible not to hone in on the one that is all friendly, solicitous Alpha. He kinda wants to purr, jus' a little bit...

"So, you and Chad," Jared says, and then just ominously leaves it there.

"Chad's awesome. In very small doses." Jensen raises his fingers to show just how tiny. "But he means well. I think. Wants you to be happy. Thinks I could make you happy."

"Does he," Jared murmurs. He has an arm across Jensen's shoulders now, and it feels altogether different from how Chad's arm had felt. "I'd be more interested in hearing what _you_ think about that."

"I think--" he takes a deep breath, which doesn't help because Jared's scent is increasingly heady and he kinda wants to drown in it "--I think he may be right. And that I--Jared, I know we just met, but I want him to be right. Is he right?"

Jared kisses him. It's quick and it's gentle but it's smack bang on the lips and it feels truly and completely magical like all the romance novels say (and yes, he's a little embarrassed that he knows what romance novels say, but he also knows what Shelley and Sidney and Shakespeare say so that ought to balance out, right?). "Ask me again when you're sober," Jared murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. "Now come on, I'll take you to Misha, he'll make sure you don't choke on your own vomit before you've had a good night's sleep."

Jensen _would_ fire back with a very witty retort of some kind, but his body chooses that exact moment to hit him with an unconquerable yawn.

"Yeah," Jared says, laughing a little as he rises. "Come on. Up we get…"

***

Jensen has a hangover.

Jared serves him a greasy breakfast.

"Man, I think I'm in love."

"With Jay, or the bacon?"

"You know what I love about you, Chad?" Jared asks, deceptively conversational.

"Oh, that's easy. Everything. What's not to love?"

"Actually, it's the way you make those around you _shine_."

"Oh, that," Chad says, unruffled. He pops a piece of overly sugary kiddie cereal in his mouth, chews happily. "That's my personal glory reflecting off them. I am resplendent."

Before either of them can find an adequate response to that, a pair of giggling toddlers come running in, Misha in hot pursuit. Misha manages to scoop up one, but the other hides behind Chad's chair.

"Yours?" Jensen asks.

The second child--a girl, Jensen thinks, from the length of the golden curls if not the outfit of camouflage overalls over khaki t-shirt--reaches around Chad at that moment to make a grab at the salt cellar, knocking it to the floor.

" _Half_ mine," Misha corrects ruefully. "I can only be blamed for fifty percent of their mischievous genomes."

"Splitting hairs there, Mish," Jared says. "Coffee?"

"Oh, god, yes. Please. With five--"

"Five sugars and a little pink marshmallow, I know." He turns to the coffee machine.

"He only remembers that because it's how _he_ likes it," Chad offers helpfully. "Only I think he sometimes permits himself _six_ sugars these days. He has quite the sweet tooth. You sure you can afford to keep him in chocolate?"

Jensen groans. "I'm too hungover for this conversation."

Chad grins triumphantly, scoops the toddler up onto his lap, and begins chattering animatedly about how awesome Uncle Chadmeister is right now and how, like a really sensible investment, his awesome can only increase over time.

***

"I don't know if I want to be dragged back to Texas," Jared says slowly, eyeing Jensen. They're lying out on the smooth grass of the back lawn, enjoying the faint breeze and the occasional flurry of birdsong. Misha's bashing and hammering about in his workshop, but somehow that's a comforting noise, a homely one.

"I don't know that I do, either," Jensen confesses quietly. "I mean, I like it well enough, and my family's there, but… Okay, so maybe it's exactly like people say and familiarity breeds contempt, but I gotta tell you I haven't felt half as comfortable and at home in my own pack the last few years as I have while I've been here. D'you think a couple days is really enough to get a true feel for a place?"

"Yeah," Jared says, "I do. For me, anyways. But not everyone's the same. You might be the type to get homesick."

Jensen doesn't think so, but then how would he know? He hasn't missed home at all while he's been here, but then he's always had that return ticket in his bag, always known this wasn't an indefinite exile. "What's really most important," he decides, "is you. This. Us. If that doesn't work, probably no place is right, you know?"

"Okay. So this is how I slice it: you gotta go back to Texas eventually to report to your Mom and everything. I could come with, but I'd have to get back pretty soon for school. Better if you make the trip, tidy up loose ends, pack your stuff, and come look for work out here. Sebastian's a big softie, but he won't let you stay indefinitely without contributing. Then you and me, we can do the getting-to-know-you thing properly, and then decide where to live when I graduate. Which is actually kinda frighteningly close already."

"Sounds like a plan." A scary, scary plan. But also… yeah. There's a big part of him that's seriously excited by the possibilities.

Jared's nose crinkles in sudden amusement. "So, you gonna let me finish my sex lessons with Misha?"

He gets a choice? In that case… "Hell, no. But I'll ask for his lesson plans. I think I'm qualified to teach the pertinent points."

"You're very qualified," Jared says, and kisses him.

"Aww, young love," says a voice, with accompanying shadow falling across them.

"Fuck off, Chad," Jared says, and resumes kissing.

"Don't worry. I know that my manifest sexual awesomeitude can be distracting."

"Fuck off _now_ , Chad."

"Settle, Petal. I'm going." And off he goes, whistling.

"We don't have to adopt him or anything, right?" Jensen murmurs.

Jared looks up from the trail he's been kissing down the side of Jensen's neck. "Well, I do kinda want kids some day. But I thought I'd start, you know, smaller. With a baby. Or a big ol' floppy-eared puppy."

"I think that can be arranged. Something fearsome-looking but secretly cuddly?"

"The only way you could possibly be more perfect," Jared announces, "is if you're ticklish." And he sets about finding out.

***

The second time Jensen finds himself on that particular doorstep in Silverlake, he's toting far more luggage as well as his old faithful acoustic guitar in its case and yet he feels so much lighter than the last time. He knocks with a free elbow, waits.

Misha opens the door, takes one look at Jensen and all his crap, puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles ear-splittingly loud. Then he shouts over his shoulder. "Brock! Oyster Boy! Get your asses out here."

"Oyster Boy?" Jensen mouths.

Misha shakes his head slowly. "It's kinder not to ask." His hilariously sad expression breaks, giving way to a grin. "I'm going to hug you within an inch of your life as soon as those lazy Alphas get here to relieve you of your burdens. Just so you know."

Which is right about when one skinny kid and one immense bald dude show up. Misha points imperiously at Jensen, and the two slip past Misha to grab Jensen's stuff. One of them even carefully eases Jensen's arms out of his backpack's straps.

"Same room as last time, or are you ready to move in with Jay?"

Jensen blushes at that, he's pretty sure of it.

"The spare room," Bald Guy suggests. "They're both going to need their own space at first. You know, for those times they might need to think straight for some reason." His smile makes his eyes crinkle.

Jensen likes him immediately. "We didn't get a chance to meet last time I was here," he says, and pats the guy's arm since his hands are all full of bags and cases. "I'm Jensen."

"Oyster Boy. Brock, you met Jensen?"

"No, sir," the skinny kid says. "Good to meet you, Jensen."

"All right, all right," Misha says, "enough schmoozing. How about we all try and get into the damn house now?"

***

Jensen's there maybe an hour, sitting in the kitchen nursing a coffee and pondering his life choices, when Chad arrives home, Jared in tow, and everything starts to feel right.

Best not to think too hard about the fact that he is happy to see _Chad_. Best to focus on the fact that he is completely, hopelessly, wonderfully smitten with the tall guy behind him.

Who is staring.

"Jay?"

"You came back," Jared says, voice full of wonder.

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Of course I did." He gets up, resists the urge to throw himself into Jared's arms in favour of walking across the room like a grown man and offering a reasonably decorous hug. And then shudders at the sudden deluge of scent, remembered, yet still new and exciting.

"Okay, bedtime for the love-birds." Chad claps his hands. "I'll bring you a dinner tray later on. Do try to stop fucking long enough to save my eyesight."

The way Jared's arm moves against Jensen's back strongly suggests that he is flipping Chad off. Good. Not that Chad will mind in the slightest.

"Come on," Jared murmurs. "Lemme show you I learned something at Misha's."

As he leaves the room, walking hand in hand with Jared, Jensen realises, quite simply, that he's come home.

***END***


End file.
